


Everything That's Beautiful (is All Yours)

by ScarlettSiren



Category: ATEEZ (Band), K-pop
Genre: Barebacking, Canon Compliant, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Smut, Light Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-01
Updated: 2019-02-01
Packaged: 2019-10-18 06:02:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17575217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScarlettSiren/pseuds/ScarlettSiren
Summary: Hongjoong has so many burdens, and never allows himself to show weakness. Seonghwa decides to be the one to bend, before Hongjoong breaks.





	Everything That's Beautiful (is All Yours)

**Author's Note:**

> I have nothing to say for myself. I haven’t felt this strongly about a group in a while, and I have tried to get into several over the last two years without success. These boys snatched my heart. So here, have some fic. I’ve got too many other WIPs to throw myself into my usual AU worldbuilding hell so I’m sticking to a one-shot for the time being.

It is three in the morning when Hongjoong sneaks back into their shared room, and Seonghwa awakens, just like every other time. He peels an eye open to check the clock, its digital face glowering at him in the darkness. He doesn’t have the energy to fight. He never does. And Hongjoong? Hongjoong won’t listen anyway.

Seonghwa is a light sleeper. The barest creak halfway across the dorms can pull him straight out of REM. He acts like Hongjoong is stealthy enough to sneak back into their room without disturbing him, but only because he knows the truth would cause their leader guilt. He doesn’t need any more of that. He’s already burdened with so much; the pressure of debut, the upcoming tour, the responsibilities and his own personal goals. He does not want to add more on top of it all.

The bed creaks when Hongjoong climbs into the bottom bunk. Seonghwa can hear the scrape of skin on cheap cotton, the flutter of his blankets as he gets settled, the deep and even breaths—far too measured, clearly self-regulated—in the quiet dark of the room. Seonghwa resolves himself to try to find sleep again, until he hears one of those perfectly-measured inhales stutter. The exhale is longer, staccato, and it is followed by a wet sniff.

Hongjoong is… crying.

Seonghwa has known Hongjoong for a long time. He has seen him cry… seen him struggle to handle the burdens of being an aspiring idol and producer, seen him break down when the weight of it all became too much. But that had been a long time ago. He’d sat with him and he’d offered him comfort, had held him and wiped away his tears and told him that everything was going to work out and that it was okay to share his burdens with others.

After that… things seemed to change. He would hesitate to say that Hongjoong had become cold toward him, but he certainly was not as warm with him as he’d once been. As the roster was solidified, Hongjoong took point with keeping the members in line… the more disciplinary aspects. Seonghwa dealt with the fallout, becoming their comfort, their emotional support.

But not for Hongjoong.

Hongjoong kept his distance, always at an emotional—and often physical—arm’s length. Seonghwa had even tried calling him out for being so distant while they were filming their first reality show (not his best moment, he admits), wheedling at him for not wanting to be closer friends… but it had only been played up for laughs. Nothing came of it.

Hongjoong never spurned him… no, they still got along well, on and off the camera. But to Seonghwa, it always felt as though Hongjoong had drawn a stark line in the sand between them. Hitherto he could come, but no further. He saw how comfortable the others got with each other. The way San would literally throw himself onto Yunho so comfortably, how he would lie against his or Yeosang’s chest, how he could jump into Jongho’s arms with just one word of warning, how Jongho would pick _him_ up so effortlessly with no warning at all. The way Wooyoung and Mingi so carelessly kissed and teased… biting, hugging, like it came so naturally. Hongjoong, too, had opened up to the others, little by little, but still, there was that stark line in the sand. He would pretend to be scandalized if lips ever even came near him, and he never spoke of his worries to any of them.

And Hongjoong acted as though it was not of his own doing, claiming that Yunho was the only member who allowed skinship. Anyone who had been in a room with any of the other members for more than five minutes knew how much of a lie _that_ was.

At first, Seonghwa had let it impact his relationships with the other members. He would feel a little awkward if they wanted to hug or dote or love on him. But after a while, he just couldn’t keep it up. He didn’t know how Hongjoong could stand it… they lived such isolated lives as aspiring idols, and their free time was no more their own after debut. He couldn’t imagine rejecting the affections of the only people he could actually be close to. After seeing San, Wooyoung and Yunho cuddling so casually in a pile on the couch one day, he decided he wouldn’t do it anymore. He wouldn’t let himself be starved for physical affection. His own roommate might not have wanted to be closer friends, but he resolved to become closer with the rest of the team.

And he did. He had hoped it would erode some of Hongjoong’s barriers, too… but it was slow-going. Now he feels they must not have come very far if his roommate was, _at that very moment_ lying in the quiet dark, crying, and had not even bothered to ask if Seonghwa was awake, not tried to ask for any amount of comfort. Seonghwa would let the other crawl into the top bunk with him if that was what he wanted. But Hongjoong wouldn’t ask. He never asked.

So Seonghwa would. His voice is rough with sleep when he finally speaks.

“Hongjoong-ah… is something wrong?”

He feels the air leave the room. Feels the tension fill all the space where oxygen once had been. It is deafeningly silent for three entire seconds.

“N-no, I’m sorry, did I wake you?” He feels the other shift on the bed, hears him sniff again—louder this time—and imagines he’s wiping away his tears. “I’m so sorry, please, go back to sleep. I didn’t mean to… I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine, I’m just a light sleeper.” Seonghwa sighs, softly enough that he’s sure the other won’t hear. “It seems you stay at the studio later and later these days.”

“I’m sorry… I’ll do my best not to disturb you in the future.” Hongjoong whispers, and Seonghwa lets out a soft grunt of disapproval.

“That isn’t what I meant. You shouldn’t work yourself so hard.” He clarifies, grumbling a little. “Do you… is there something I can do?”

“No.” Hongjoong snaps a little too quickly, a little too harshly. His next words are far more measured. “Just go back to sleep.”

He does, but sleep does not find him easily, and he imagines it is much the same for Hongjoong.

***

The next night, Hongjoong doesn’t come to bed.

Seonghwa knows this because he wakes several times throughout the night: once when Yunho nearly falls over himself in the hall to get to the bathroom, once when one of his dorm neighbors knocks a limb hard against the wall in a dreaming fit, he imagines… each time he checks the clock and checks the bottom bunk. It remains empty.

Everyone else is still sleeping, he thinks, when he hears the slap of slippers down the hall, shuffling into the kitchen in the morning. He decides to get up if only because he’s hungry and once the others are up, he’s not going to get any more sleep anyway.

He walks into the kitchen to see Hongjoong grabbing a drink from the fridge. He looks haggard. His extensions are sticking out at haphazard angles at the base of his neck, his fringe is a wreck and his eyes are barely open. He blinks blearily at his roommate and grimaces. He knows what’s coming.

“Morning Seong—”

“Did you sleep in your studio?” Seonghwa hisses. A door opens around the corner and someone (San, he thinks) starts whining so loud about something that it echoes through the hall. He ignores it. “All night?”

“I… it was so late already when I was ready to wrap up, and I didn’t want to disturb you again, so I took a nap, but I guess I just… didn’t wake up.” Hongjoong admits, having the good sense to at least look guilty.

“Don’t you dare lay this on me. I don’t care if you wake me up. You can’t sleep in a _chair_ , look at you, you probably have a crick in your neck, _at best_.” Seonghwa dotes, crossing the distance between them. He smooths down Hongjoong’s hair, then leaves his hands cupped around the other’s neck, fingers digging in a little to test the cording of the muscles, feel for any knots.

Hongjoong jolts like he’s been touched by a branding iron, pulling back and putting his hands up almost defensively. Seonghwa doesn’t think he’s ever been so offended in his life.

San walks in right then, making a show of yawning and stretching. “Morning hyungs! What’s up?”

“We’ll talk about this later.” Seonghwa says to Hongjoong in a quiet, deadly tone that brooks no argument.

San looks between the two of them with a sort of wide-eyed curiosity, lips pursed together as he hides a smirk of interest, but when Wooyoung comes barreling down the hall yelling about food and accosts him to drag him to the fridge, the moment is broken.

***

It is not even midnight when Hongjoong returns to their room that evening, and Seonghwa would count it as a victory if their leader didn’t look like complete death. There are dark circles under his eyes, deep purple, and his gait is sluggish as he drags himself into the room and shuts the door with a groan.

Seonghwa is still up, cleaning. He’d been restless, but decided to straighten up their room before going to the studio to tear Hongjoong a new one. He’s actually pleasantly surprised to see him back so early.

“Someone call Gong Yoo, there’s a zombie in our room.” Seonghwa bites in such a flat tone that the comment almost doesn’t register as a joke.

“Ha, hilarious.” Hongjoong grunts, sliding his dorm slippers off and kicking them into the corner haphazardly. Seonghwa suppresses the irritation he feels at seeing them askew next to his own perfectly-placed pair.

“Undead or not, we need to talk.” Seonghwa tells him, setting aside the broom. Hongjoong knows at that point that they will be having a _Serious Conversation_ because Seonghwa isn’t trying to pretend he’s too busy cleaning to pay any actual attention to what’s being discussed.

“Yeah, I know, I’m shit. I need to get more sleep. I’m not going to make any good music in this condition. I’m waking you up and disturbing _your_ sleep. I’m a terrible leader and a worse roommate.” Hongjoong rattles off like he’s expecting a verbal beatdown and figures he’ll save Seonghwa the time and energy. “I really am sorry about waking you up, maybe I can ask one of the others if they want to switch rooms, I hear Yunho sleeps like the dead—”

“ _Hongjoong-ah_ !” Seonghwa hisses, somewhere between exasperated and offended. He has a grave look on his face as he crosses the room, body-blocking the other from moving away from the door. “Stop. I don’t want to switch rooms and you aren’t a terrible leader. I wanted to _speak with you_ , not berate you.”

Hongjoong’s mouth clicks shut and he swallows. It’s several long seconds before he talks. “Oh. O-okay. Um. I’m sorry, what did you… have to say, if not that?”

“I’m worried about you.” Seonghwa admits, and if the frustrated grunt Hongjoong lets out is any indication, this is not the conversation he wants to have, either. “Listen to me, dammit. It’s not _just_ about the studio hours, all right? Though that’s admittedly a big part of it, yes. I just feel as though you’re taking on too much.”

“I’m fine.” Hongjoong says too-dismissively, looking away as though he can’t tell such a lie while looking Seonghwa in the eyes. “It’s just leader stuff. That’s on me. If I’m projecting that on you, I’m sorry, that isn’t fair of me.”

Seonghwa lets out an offended scoff, balking at him. “Isn’t _fair_ ? Hongjoong-ah, what isn’t fair is that you’re taking all this on by yourself. All the other members, they know they can look to you for guidance. But who do you lean on, hm? You could stand to do a little _more_ projecting.”

“I don’t need—”

“The hell you don’t.” Seonghwa snarls. “You’re human. You’re falling apart. You’ve spent so much time in the studio that I think your brain is starting to interface with your laptop. It doesn’t matter how much you push yourself, how many hours you put in… if the company doesn’t feel like taking a risk on your work then they won’t.”

“Don’t.” Hongjoong cuts him off, his raw voice breaking. “Don’t say that.”

“You need to hear it! They don’t appreciate your work! They don't! There, I said it. It doesn’t matter if you spent one hour in the studio or one hundred or one-hundred- _thousand_ , Hongjoong-ah, because they’re going to take the safe bet and use producers who have experience and have already made names for themselves. You could already have the next _Fake Love_ in your studio program just _languishing_ and it doesn’t fucking matter because they won’t take the risk.”

Hongjoong cringes, but there’s something there in his eyes that the other can’t help but pick up on: he agrees. He knows. He is hearing a hard truth but it is a _truth_ , something he’s believed himself for some time. He’s always doubted his own skill, but part of him had begun to wonder if he wasn’t even being given a fair chance. He feels vindicated hearing someone else voice it. It’s heartbreaking and liberating all at once.

“This entire group… all of our careers, from _day one_ , have been a careful game of risk management and marketing. Drumming up interest with our dance covers. Focusing on the international fans without spurning our fans here at home. Having our debut song be one that was produced by veteran KQ talent. Dropping Joonyoung because he didn’t gel well enough with all of us and hadn’t trained for long. Changing the _name_ of the group when it didn’t screen well… every single choice was a monetary one.” Seonghwa continues. “You know I’m right.”

Hongjoong grimaces, but he doesn’t disagree.

“Joongie-ah, we should have debuted with _From_ , _your version_ of it, but we didn’t. Because our managers are cowards. And I’m glad our debut went well, but I have no doubt it would have gone just as well had we debuted with one of your songs.”

“You’re just… saying that to make me feel better.” Hongjoong mumbles, but he doesn’t really believe it.

“I mean every word.” Seonghwa insists. “And I mean this: you can depend on me. I’ve told you so many times, I just want to be the friend you can depend on. I am here, I have always been here.”

“It isn’t… your responsibility.” Hongjoong murmurs, and the way his head is dipped low, eyes tracking over the lines in the wood floor, it makes him look _so so_ small. “ _I’m_ not your responsibility.”

“Leave your tired heart in my arms, and just trust me.” Seonghwa whispers, and it isn’t lyrical at all, but _raw_ , and Hongjoong bristles at hearing his own words spoken to him in such a way. “Those lyrics you wrote… they always resonated with me. You have always placed the burdens of this group on your own shoulders. Composing, producing, leading the other members… but you can’t keep taking all of this on by yourself. Let me help you.”

“Hyung…”

Seonghwa lets out a little hiss of frustration, looking away with a grimace. They’ve had this discussion before, how he doesn’t see himself as Hongjoong’s elder, how he wants them to be friends— _equals_ —but Hongjoong seems to rebuff the notion at every turn. Their age difference is mere months, they are born in the same year, and Seonghwa doesn’t see himself above Hongjoong, not even a little. Not even at all.

But Hongjoong’s mouth twists into a regretful frown, almost _embarrassed_ , and Seonghwa feels like an absolute idiot as realization crashes down on him.

Hongjoong _needs that_ . He would never admit it, not aloud, but the only way he will ever learn to depend on someone else is if he is made to feel that he _must_.

Seonghwa draws a long breath, then exhales slowly. He can feel Hongjoong shrinking away from him, as though there cannot possibly be enough distance between them. It aches in his chest that Hongjoong feels shame for feeling such a basic need: a need for validation, for a trusted ear, for a helping hand.

“Fine.” Seonghwa says, a resolved set in his jaw as he squares his shoulders. “If you will not let me be your friend and equal, then I will be your elder. But that means you must share your burdens with me. And you need to be willing to ask for the things you need.”

Hongjoong looks up, then, terrified… as though he’s sure he had been hiding it well enough and is horrified to have been found out despite his best efforts.

Seonghwa realizes that Hongjoong doesn’t hate physical affection at all. He doesn’t detest the idea of emotional support. He is only afraid of appearing vulnerable, of asking too much of someone, of being someone else’s burden. He is afraid of showing too much, _being_ too much, allowing himself too much… but he is not taking anything for himself, and it is taking a toll.

If he doesn’t bend, he will break. Seonghwa knows this. But Hongjoong seems determined to stand strong in the face of all of this, refuses to back down first. Seonghwa decides that it has to be him.

He curls his fingers into the front of Hongjoong’s hoodie, dragging him into his own space, until there’s hardly centimeters between their faces. His other arm loops around Hongjoong’s waist, holding the other flush against him. Hongjoong blinks up at him in confusion, mouth falling open but no words forming.

“If you can’t ask me, then can you at least tell me to stop?” Seonghwa asks him, only because he could never do anything Hongjoong didn’t want. But he’s certain, he’s _so certain_ , he’s willing to take the leap. One of them has to. “But only if _you_ want me to.”

Seonghwa cards a hand into that caramel hair, right at the base of Hongjoong’s skull. He can feel the tracks of the extensions where they’re sewn into his roots—that _stupid fucking mullet_ —somehow hideous and adorable all at once. He wants to run his hands through them and rip them out at the same time. He doesn’t. He just pulls Hongjoong in, closing the infinitesimal space between them to capture his lips.

There is a moment—it feels like an eternity, but it cannot be longer than a few seconds—where Hongjoong just stands there, unmoving. There is not shock on his face… no, he knows well enough not to be surprised. His expression shifts as he does; he returns the kiss for only a moment before he seems to catch himself, pulling back and resting his palms flat on Seonghwa’s chest. He doesn’t push him, just grounds himself. Seonghwa can see his expression clearly, now, and while there are at least a dozen unnamed emotions warring in those widened eyes, the one at the forefront is fear.

“We shouldn’t—”

“Why?” Seonghwa cuts him off, patient but almost patronizing.

“It could...” Hongjoong flounders, but Seonghwa doesn’t lean in again, wanting him to finish. “The group. We—what if—”

“You think too much. You think _so much_.” Seonghwa shakes his head, his thumb stroking over the curve of the other’s cheek. “I would never risk the group. I would never do that to you. To them. If you want me to stop, I will, and we can pretend this never happened.”

There is surety in his voice, a sort of hardness there that makes Hongjoong believe it. He listens with such an open expression, and there is still so much feeling at war within him. He swallows as Seonghwa continues.

“But only if this isn’t what _you_ want. Because I believe you need this as much as I do, and I will go there. I’d do anything for you, Joongie-ah.”

And, just like that, Hongjoong finally breaks.

But he does not break in the way Seonghwa fears most. He does not crumble like brittle rock falling into the sea, battered and eroded. No… Hongjoong breaks like a wave against him, crashing, full-force, as though he revels in the freedom of it. He kisses Seonghwa recklessly, scrabbling at his collar, his neck, his hair, wherever he can reach, as though he can pull him closer, as though even an atom of space between them is too much.

“Hyung…” Hongjoong all but whimpers in a small voice against his lips, and for once in his life Seonghwa doesn’t hate it. He hears it for what it is: a plea, a need for someone— _just once_ —to take the control and responsibility and burden away, to be the one holding _him_ together instead of the other way around.

Something fierce and protective boils up in his gut. Seonghwa has never seen Hongjoong as lesser than him in any way—not younger, not smaller, not weaker… he has always seen him for his emotional fortitude, the strength of his character, his unerring determination. But now, in this moment, he lets himself see Hongjoong how Hongjoong so obviously sees himself: younger, smaller, _weaker_ . These are not words Seonghwa would ever dare to consider in the same breath as Kim Hongjoong’s name… but it is so obvious to him now that Hongjoong _does_.

“Shh…” Seonghwa hushes softly, pulling Hongjoong further into the room, until they are standing just next to the bunk bed they share. It takes him a moment to maneuver them so that he can lay Hongjoong out on the mattress without catching on the metal bars of the top bunk’s base. When he leans over Hongjoong, knees straddling his hips and hands caging either side of his head, he _feels_ bigger than him. More powerful. In control. Seonghwa’s voice is pitched low when he speaks again, dark and promising.

“Hyung has you.”

Hongjoong _melts_ , his eyes glazing over a little as a soft, punched-out mewl escapes him, entirely involuntarily. He nods frantically, and he mouths a strung-out, jumbled mess of syllables that may be a breathless thank-you, but his throat his cottony and his tongue is lead and his mind is a jumbled mess. Seonghwa just kisses him again, and he doesn’t think he’s ever seen the other man look so grateful. So _needy_.

Seonghwa has only ever wanted Hongjoong to need him… in whatever capacity he would allow. He wraps him up and kisses him slow and sweet until they both drift off, tangled up in each others’ arms. And the next morning, when he awakes, he kisses Hongjoong again before he gets up, if only to prove to himself—to both of them—that it wasn’t just a dream.

***

The next night, when Hongjoong rolls into their room, it’s blessedly even earlier than it had been the previous time. Seonghwa has a feeling that Hongjoong is finally admitting to himself just how much comfort the contact brings him, and maybe, _just maybe_ , he’s considering Seonghwa’s feelings.

Seonghwa is in the top bunk, scrolling through Twitter. He’d posted a selfie at the behest of management and is enjoying the stream of comments. He doesn’t get as many as most of the other members do, but he treasures each one. When he hears the door open, he sets his phone aside and regards his roommate curiously.

“Productive night?”

Hongjoong grimaces, shrugging as he slides his slippers off. “It was okay.”

“Mm, better than bad.” Seonghwa comments, watching as Hongjoong strips off his hoodie and tosses it into the laundry pile. He drops into his bunk in just his sweats and a t-shirt, heaving a loud sigh. After a long pause, he asks, “Would you like me to come down?”

“Yes.” Hongjoong murmurs in a small voice, like it pains him to admit it… or he’s embarrassed to have been caught.

Seonghwa is only amused, though, and joins him on the bottom bunk. He slots against the other, nuzzling against his cheek after he wraps his arms around him. “Wanna talk about it?”

“No.” Hongjoong says, voice quiet and eyes down. After a long moment, he finally looks up at Seonghwa, his expression so open, so melancholy. “Just… this is nice. This helps.”

Seonghwa smiles, then, bright as the sun, and presses a kiss to Hongjoong’s forehead. “Good. No venting today… distraction?”

Hongjoong nods.

So Seonghwa just chats idly with him about menial things. Mentions some funny fan posts he saw on Twitter, regales the absolute fiasco that had occurred earlier in the day when someone decided it would be a genius idea to prank San by hiding all of his plushies. He’d spent hours tearing the dorms apart looking for them and he’s pretty sure Jongho is missing a good chunk of hair after San found out it was him and nearly noogied him to death. He idly touches Hongjoong as he talks; petting his hair, running his fingers across his neck or over his shoulder or down his arm. Hongjoong laughs softly but mostly just listens, closes his eyes when Seonghwa kisses him, and he doesn’t remember falling asleep in his arms, but he wakes up that way just the same.

Whatever this is, whatever they have, it _works_. The others don’t seem to notice anything amiss, though San does wheedle at Seonghwa about the conversation he walked in on. He just brushes it off and claims he’d been chiding Hongjoong on staying up late in the studio and waking him at all hours. Not a complete lie, but not a total truth either.

After the second night, Seonghwa just waits on the bottom bunk. He tells himself it’s because he’s too lazy to have to climb down if Hongjoong gets back late, but it is mostly just an assurance for his roommate that this is something they both want. That Hongjoong isn’t a burden or a bother. That his problems are not too much, as long as they are shared.

Hongjoong doesn’t say anything when he sees him there, but something flits across his face… an emotion that Seonghwa isn’t sure has a name. If it does, he’s too terrified to even think it. After Hongjoong changes, Seonghwa makes grabby-hands at him and pulls him in close. Hongjoong is in a good mood; he’s finished a track he’s incredibly proud of and he’s presenting it to their manager tomorrow. Seonghwa murmurs genuine praises in between sweet, languid kisses, and seeing the other’s face light up with so much promise warms his chest. They fall asleep entangled as though it has always been that way.

The next day, however, is not kind to Kim Hongjoong.

Everyone decides to go out for lunch… not together, but in pairs and trios and Seonghwa stays behind because no one has been able to get ahold of Hongjoong. He’s not answering his texts, he’s not in his studio… he’d had a meeting with the managers, he knows that much, but he hasn’t seen hide nor hair of him since they had breakfast together.

After hours of unsuccessful searching, Seonghwa hazards shooting him a text to let him know that the others are gone so the dorms are quiet, if he needs some time to himself. He then disappears into their shared room to sort the laundry for lack of anything else to do, and it keeps his worried thoughts from wandering into dark places.

Fifteen minutes after he sends the text, he hears someone walking down the hall. His door opens and in steps Hongjoong, his eyes red and puffy, cheeks splotchy.

He’s been crying. He’s been _sobbing_.

Hongjoong snaps the door shut behind him and locks it, like he’s just managed a great escape by coming here. The look on his face is heart-wrenching. Seonghwa aches just seeing him like that… he’s sure it shows on his face just how much.

“Joongie-ah, what happened?”

He doesn’t even wait or ask before pulling the other into a bracing hug. As soon as Hongjoong’s face slots against his collarbone, he breaks, sobbing and shaking in his arms. His words come out in a torrent, but Seonghwa gets the gist: the managers don’t think his compositions are good enough yet. They just aren’t the “right fit”. They’re comfortable with having Eden taking the lead on composing their albums and continuing to allow Hongjoong and Mingi to write their own raps as a personal touch from Ateez. Nothing more.

Seonghwa completely understands why Hongjoong is so hurt by this. For their management, it’s a business decision. But to him, it’s thousands of hours of work _wasted_ , left to languish. It is a clear and unmistakable claim that he is _not good enough_.

Hongjoong is practically hysterical, and Seonghwa does his best to calm him down; he pets his hair and whispers soft encouragements and reassurances and apologies—he surely deserves them, even if he’ll never get them from those who _should_ be sorry. But Hongjoong seems to reject it, pulling back and thudding his fists against Seonghwa’s chest… not hard, but enough that he feels the anger there.

“I just… what’s the… what’s the point? Why d-do I even bother? I work s-so hard and it’s for n-nothing!”

“Shh, I know, I know.” Seonghwa soothes, kissing over the salty tang of his tear-stained cheek.

“All those late nights, all my efforts, it means nothing to them!” Hongjoong bites out, anger bubbling.

Seonghwa presses his forehead against Hongjoong’s, trying to meet his eyes. “It’s okay, Joongie-ah. Hyung has you.”

Those words flip a switch, like it’s a trigger phrase and Hongjoong is part of some kind of goddamned sleeper cell, hypnotized without even knowing it. The tension drains from his spine and his eyes lose focus, like he can’t be bothered to concentrate on anything other than the feel of Seonghwa’s hands on him. Anything that isn’t Seonghwa’s voice, even silence, is like white noise. He twists the fabric of Seonghwa’s shirt in his fingers and nods. He tries to say something, maybe just a small affirmation, but it comes out a broken whimper.

He’s maneuvered onto the bottom bunk carefully, _so carefully_ , and Seonghwa gets to work on his clothes. He’d been dressed for a meeting, so he isn’t in his usual comfort clothing. Seonghwa’s fingers work deftly at the buttons of his shirt in a way that Hongjoong knows he would be incapable of right now. He frees him of his belt, tugs off his jeans, pulls the comforter up to his waist… but when he slides Hongjoong’s shirt off, the younger can’t help but shiver.

“Cold?” Seonghwa asks, and receives a nod in response. He presses a soft kiss to Hongjoong’s forehead before sliding off the bed to rifle through his clothes. He just grabs the first sweater he sees, one of his own; it’s ribbed with purple and black stripes and english lettering along the front. It’s a tad big on him, so when he slides it over Hongjoong’s head, it nearly swallows the smaller man, the sleeves covering all the way down and over his tiny fingers.

Seonghwa rubs his hands over Hongjoong’s biceps, as though he’s trying to warm him up and comfort him all at once. “Better?”

He receives another nod, and leans in to kiss the tip of Hongjoong’s nose. He brings his hands back up to cup his cheeks, his thumbs skirting over the high curves of the other man’s cheekbones. The expression he wears is not a pitying one, no… he is heartbroken. There is anger there, too, in the hard set of his brow. Part of Hongjoong wants to see that righteous fury unleashed on his behalf… but he is also terrified by the thought. It wasn’t the managers’ faults, obviously, it must be him, must be his music, because after all, if it were good enough, they would _see_ it, surely—

“Come back.” Seonghwa murmurs, apparently having noticed his focus drift. Hongjoong blinks, centering his attention on the other’s eyes once more. Seonghwa smiles at him, _so so_ sweetly. “There you are. Is there anything I can do?”

Hongjoong’s tongue feels like lead. There is _so much_ Seonghwa does for him. His very presence is a balm. He feels wrapped up in his warmth and light, and it’s a comfort he can’t describe.

“When you touch me, I can forget everything.” Hongjoong utters, and it is as much of a confession as it is an admission to himself. “I just want to feel you, and nothing else. Just for a while, please—”

Seonghwa cannot say if it is his voice, thready with need, that does him in, or the completely earnest look on the other’s face, but he knows in that moment that he will give him any and everything he could ask for, and more. He rolls them so that he is above Hongjoong, kicking the covers away, and kisses him hard. Hongjoong melts into it, holding Seonghwa’s face and giving as good as he gets. It isn’t long, however, before those intrusive thoughts come creeping back in and all he wants is not to _think_ , just for one night, he wants to turn everything off and just _exist_.

Hongjoong’s hands wander lower, tugging at Seonghwa’s shirt… first just to anchor him, but then with purpose, as though he’s trying to yank it off of him. Seonghwa chuckles in amusement but pulls back long enough to comply, ridding himself of the garment before going back to kissing Hongjoong as though any interruption is too long of one.

It doesn’t take much longer, though, before Hongjoong dips his fingers into the waistband of Seonghwa’s pants, tugging with purpose again. Seonghwa obeys again, slipping out of both his pants and boxers without even parting from the other. Once he’s completely naked, however, he leans back on his knees and skirts his fingertips along the waistband of Hongjoong’s own boxers.

“Is this what you want?” Seonghwa asks, because he wants to be sure. Hongjoong just nods emphatically, lifting his hips so the other can slide them off.

“I have some… um… if you…” Hongjoong points toward the top corner of the bed, words failing him.

“I know.” Seonghwa says. He reaches under the bed and rummages blindly for a moment before he comes back with a bottle of lube he knows belongs to Hongjoong. The younger looks away, embarrassed.

“How’d you know that was there?”

“I clean this room, I know where everything is.” Seonghwa tells him with a little smirk, curling his free hand around Hongjoong’s hip and stroking his thumb over the jut of his hip bone. His cheeks flush bright pink, and when Seonghwa lets go to trail his fingertips across his stomach, just below his navel, just below where the bottom hem of his borrowed sweater hangs loosely, Hongjoong digs his teeth into his lip. He watches him with a hazy sort of expression, the muscles of his abdomen jumping from the contact. He lets out a soft noise when he pulls his hand away.

“Hyung…” He whines, squirming anxiously. “Please.”

Hongjoong could beg, or demand, or plead or order… it wouldn’t really matter, and Seonghwa would give him whatever he wanted. He snaps open the cap on the lube and drizzles it over his fingers, watching the way Hongjoong’s eyes track the movement of his hands as he moves them between his legs. He’s sure to be gentle, perhaps too gentle, but he can’t help but be careful when it comes to this. He wants to give Hongjoong everything, but this is new territory for both of them. He is still learning Hongjoong, and while it is a beautiful feeling to share something new with him, it is also incredibly daunting.

“More, hyung.” Hongjoong demands after too long, his hips gyrating and rutting down to meet Seonghwa’s every movement. He presses a second finger in alongside the first, watching Hongjoong’s face for a reaction. He looks blissed out and frustrated all at once, brow scrunched but mouth open wide, panting whenever Seonghwa ghosts over his prostate.

He continues slow, and it’s an agonizingly long time before he even considers going further. But Hongjoong’s frustration mounts, and eventually he grabs Seonghwa by his hair and drags him down until their noses are touching.

“Fuck me, hyung, _now_!” He whines, tacking on a breathless, “please,” when Seonghwa pulls out with a chiding look.

“Don’t suppose you have a secret stash of condoms I’ve yet to find?” Seonghwa teases, but there’s the implication of a real question there.

“No. It’s fine. We both get tested by the company every few months and when’s the last time you touched another human in a sexual way?” Hongjoong bites back.

Seonghwa shrugs. That’s fair. They hardly have time to themselves, let alone enough to bring anyone else into their lives, even for a single night. “As long as it’s what you want.”

Hongjoong groans. “ _Yes_ , hyung, how many times do I have to—”

“Until I get tired of hearing it.” Seonghwa replies with a grin, letting the lube drizzle over his own cock, now. He slicks himself up, already hard from watching the other writhe under his touch, listening to the gorgeous sounds he’d made from only his touch.

He takes this as slowly as he has everything else, and Hongjoong thinks he might go crazy, until Seonghwa bottoms out and lets out a shuddering breath. Hongjoong meets his eyes, and it’s the first time that Seonghwa has looked anything other than entirely composed to him. His hair is a disaster, his fringe dipping well below his brow to one side. His gaze is on Hongjoong, but it is _wrecked_ , like it’s hitting him all at once. Hongjoong loses his breath. Seonghwa is _stunning_ , but knowing that _he_ made him this way sends a stab of want through his chest. He wants to make Seonghwa feel as good as Seonghwa makes him feel.

Hongjoong grabs the back of Seonghwa’s neck, pulling him down for a filthy kiss. It says everything he doesn’t, and it takes several seconds before Seonghwa gets his bearings enough to move. When he snaps his hips, Hongjoong whimpers against his lips and lets him go, his arms resting above his head. Seonghwa’s eyes flicker upward and a moment later he shifts, bringing both his hands up to wrap around Hongjoong’s wrists, pinning them to the bed.

“Let hyung take care of you.” Seonghwa says, and Hongjoong feels like his brain takes a swan dive off the roof. He’s checked out. He can’t do anything but lie there while Seonghwa takes him apart, piece by piece, just to put him right back together.

Their pace is slow, unhurried, like Seonghwa has all the time in the world. In truth, he has no idea when the others will be back, but they do tend to stay out late on their free days. He has every intention of savoring this moment, watching the way Hongjoong falls apart under him, open and vulnerable, trusting him in a way he doesn’t trust anyone else.

Seonghwa leans down, trailing kisses and gentle nips along Hongjoong’s neck. He is careful not to leave any marks, his lips writing unseen homages into the sensitive skin. His hips move in a steady, rolling cadence that is as tame as it is rhythmic. Hongjoong is letting out bitten-off little groans, swallowing them down before they can escape his throat.

“No one’s here but us.” Seonghwa reminds him, nibbling along his jaw as his hips grind up again. “Go ahead. Let go.”

“Nnh! _Hyung_ !” Hongjoong gasps out, so loud that it echoes sharply in the small space of their room. “Harder, _please_ , I’m not some breakable _ah_ —!”

Seonghwa smiles against Hongjoong’s neck as he feels the other shudder beneath him with every hard snap of his hips. He’s still moving at an unhurried pace, wanting to savor this, wanting them _both_ to, but he does give in to Hongjoong’s desires and tightens his grip around the other’s wrists as he shifts his weight, giving himself the leverage to thrust harder, so hard that Hongjoong is now letting out staccato little yelps with every movement.

When Seonghwa leans back to put more weight on his knees, Hongjoong stares up at him with that glazed expression, like he hung the moon. Seonghwa thinks he might be capable of just about anything if Hongjoong looks at him like that. He leans down to capture his lips in a searing, languid kiss, swallowing those sweet sounds like he needs them to live.

Hongjoong’s arms start twisting hard in his grip, fighting him, and he realizes the other must be getting close. He releases his hold, bracing his palms on the mattress instead. Hongjoong’s hands fly into Seonghwa’s hair, yanking, tugging, clenching hard in the bleached strands until it aches in his scalp. He wouldn’t dare complain, though, no… he’s reveling in it. When he moves his right hand down to wrap around Hongjoong’s cock, the man under him jolts and pulls back from their kiss to gasp for air like he’s starving for it.

“Hwa-hyung, m’so close, please, _please_ —!” Hongjoong whines, throwing his head back when Seonghwa snaps his hips hard enough to make the bed frame protest with a loud shriek.

Seonghwa leans back to put all his weight on his knees, keeping the torturously slow pace of his right hand around Hongjoong’s cock while his left rucks up the sweater so it’s bunched up at his collarbone, revealing most of his chest. He lets his hand wander down the planes of his torso, flicking his thumb over a nipple, then raking his blunt nails gently down across his abdomen.

That does Hongjoong in. He lets out an unbridled wail and arches back as he comes hard, shuddering in Seonghwa’s hold. Seonghwa works him through it, careful not to let him sully the sweater. Hongjoong is trembling around him, overwhelmed, but he’s _so_ close himself, so he pulls out and finishes over Hongjoong’s abdomen, both of them mingling together in a sticky mess.

Seonghwa takes a few seconds to catch his breath, dipping down to press gentle kisses along the apples of Hongjoong’s cheeks. There are tears in his eyes again, but they aren’t tears of sadness. Seonghwa smiles and kisses his forehead before warning him he’s going to get some things to clean them up. He throws on his house robe and disappears down the hall to the bathroom for a quick moment to wash his hands grab a warm washcloth. He cleans Hongjoong up with the sort of reverence the younger doesn’t feel like he deserves, but he’s too boneless and worn out to do it himself. He manages to pull his own boxers back on while Seonghwa is putting on his sleep pants, but he decides to keep the sweater on.

“Sometimes we give too much of ourselves to people who don’t deserve it.” Seonghwa whispers, kissing over Hongjoong’s knuckles as he pulls him into an embrace under the covers there on the bottom bunk. “Don’t push yourself so hard. Not when it won’t matter. Not when you aren’t even being given a chance.”

“I think I could handle this, though.” Hongjoong murmurs sleepily, resting his head on Seonghwa’s chest. “As long as you’re here.”

“Then I’ll be here.” Seonghwa tells him, kissing the crown of his head. It is a promise, one he intends to keep.

**Author's Note:**

> I’m actually not into hyung/oppa kink. This was just the only way I could express Hongjoong giving himself over to another authority without getting into anything even kinkier (read: daddy/sir/master). Idk just… don’t think too much into it, sorry, I’ll see myself out.
> 
> Feel free to send me prompts or yell at me on Twitter, @NecroticNymph


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